


Push

by kelly_chambliss



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-09
Updated: 2012-10-09
Packaged: 2017-11-15 23:07:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelly_chambliss/pseuds/kelly_chambliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Janeway and Chakotay back in the Alpha Quadrant.</p><p>Written in April, 2000.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Push

**Author's Note:**

> Back in 1999, I fell in love with the character of Captain Kathryn Janeway of Star Trek: Voyager. On the day I did a web search of her name, I changed my life forever, because one of the hits I got was for something called "The JetC Index." It was fanfic, all sorts of fanfic, glorious fanfic, terrible fanfic, explicit fanfic. I was hooked. I read voraciously for some weeks and then finally decided to try my hand at writing a story of my own.
> 
> I ended up writing probably a couple dozen VOY fics between 1999 and 2002 or so, with another few written a bit later. All are Janeway-centric. The stories are scattered in various places, so I thought I might as well gather them all here at A03.
> 
> "Push" is one of several sequels written to Boadicea12's story [Safer,](http://appelsini.tripod.com/B54.html) which you should read first. You can "Safer" and all its sequels [here](http://trekiverse.org/efiction/viewseries.php?skin=Medical&seriesid=59). They're well worth your time.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

She hadn't expected it. The hatred. Not from him. It was partly the surprise of seeing it in his eyes that made her momentarily acquiescent, unresisting as he tangled his fingers in her hair and forced her down in front of him.

And it was partly that she hadn't wanted to resist. He hated her, but he also trusted her, or so it seemed. At least he apparently believed that he could hate her and push her to her knees and that she would still take him in her mouth and give him only pleasure.

He had never really understood about danger. He hadn't understood about the Borg, hadn't understood about Ransom, and he didn't understand about himself. She had thought it was time he learned. So she had knelt before him, had caressed him, stroked his cock lightly, felt him harden and groan.

Then she had squeezed. This time his groan had been very different.

When she felt his hand leave her hair, she stood up and told him a little about love and hate and danger. But she wasn't sure he heard. His eyes had been unfocused.

She had left him there, in her bedroom, and had walked through the house until she reached the last room. It was the kitchen, which was small and sparsely equipped; neither she nor Chakotay spent much time there. But it had large windows through which the sun poured in the mornings. At night, the window polymer darkened automatically, set to remind her of space, and now Kathryn could see her reflection clearly on the opaque surface.

She found herself thinking of her holosessions. Chakotay must have watched them, watched her in them. Earlier, when he had shoved her onto the bed, she'd felt a flash of the same excitement, the same throbbing heat, that she felt in the holoprograms. There had been a time when she thought that Chakotay might be able to give her what she got from her programs, what she had gotten from Mark. On Voyager, she had seen glimpses of a hardness in Chakotay that she thought she could push against without his toppling. But too often he *had* toppled, and finally she had turned away.

When they had reached the Alpha Quadrant, though, he'd seemed different. Hard again. She thought she had felt it at the dinner on the night they had first had sex. He had been confident, attentive, clearly attracted to her. She had been aware of his eyes on the swell of her breasts above the band of dark silk that was the bodice of her dress.

His hand on her elbow had been firm, and he had smelled -- like the Delta Quadrant. Like Voyager. She had decided then to take him home, to let him take her.

When they had reached her apartment, he had pulled her to him almost before the door closed behind them. His mouth on hers was harsh and impatient, but his hands on the silk dress had been tentative. What she remembered most about that night was how slowly he had unwrapped her body, then how insistently he had touched her bare skin. And how she had wanted him.

They had married, bought this house where she now stood in the kitchen, alone.

Her reflection in the window shifted as she moved, and she noticed that her sweater was still open, the old-fashioned black buttons standing out sharply on the beige yarn. She fastened them slowly, carefully; it seemed important to make sure that the buttons and holes were perfectly aligned.

When she finished, she could see the tops of her breasts in the v-neck. And just above her collarbone, a finger-sized smudge that was beginning to darken a little. She watched in the window as her hand reached to touch the mark. At the moment it felt like nothing. Later, it would hurt.

When she was with her holograms -- the smiling, uniformed replica of Kashyk, the woman, the nameless Vulcan -- they excited her in ways that Chakotay had proven unable to do. She had programmed them herself -- their strength, their forcefulness, their demands. The holographic Kashyk would pin her arms, bending them back until the pressure on her shoulders was just short of too much. She would feel each of her muscles as she pulled against his inescapable presence.

She had designed the holograms so that they always left her partly clothed. She wanted to feel the chill and friction of fabric on her naked breasts as her back arched, feel it while she also felt the chill and roughness of holographic fingers pushing into her. The various pressures would build into pain, but it was a pain saturated by arousal, and the arousal would expand until she came and cried out and felt something other than pain.

Tonight, when Chakotay had dug his fingers into her hair, she had felt only the pain.

She felt nothing now, as she stared at her image in the window and half-listened to the silent house.

She hadn't been prepared to have him hate her, although she had not expected him to love her. She wasn't sure if she had loved him. But she had needed him, needed him to remind her of those days in the Delta Quadrant when her life had been impossible, but she had believed she had reasons for living it.

Her life now was a litter of PADDs on her desk at Starfleet Headquarters and a clutter of wineglasses at endless luncheons and receptions. There was nothing to resist, nothing to push against.

Except for the holograms. And Chakotay.

When Chakotay fucked her, when she felt his body against hers, there would be a momentary firmness. It had been, briefly, enough.

Now he hated her. She hadn't expected that. She didn't know yet if she hated him. She didn't know if she even despised him. 

But she knew she could no longer afford him.

Her reflection in the window moved again as she turned to leave the room.

 

End


End file.
